


A Gentleness There In You

by GamblingDementor



Category: A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder - Lutvak/Freedman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drabble Collection, F/F, Femslash, OT3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-02-16 17:58:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13059201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GamblingDementor/pseuds/GamblingDementor
Summary: A collection of Tumblr prompts gathered here. Will feature: Sibella/Monty, Sibella/Phoebe, Monty/Phoebe, Sibella/Monty/Phoebe.





	1. Phoebella: I can feel my heart beat faster when I think about you

They're giggling like schoolgirls by the time they reach Phoebe's dorm room. Sibella holds onto Phoebe's shoulder, perhaps a tad too lasciviously but they've both had a couple drinks and the fizzy bubbles have rushed to her head and she feels giddy. Phoebe drops onto her bed irreverently, paddling like a snow angel, beaming up at the ceiling. Her laughter recedes and she leans up on her elbows, looking at Sibella with starry eyes.

  


"Sweetie…" She purrs, holding out a hand to her.

  


Cautiously, Sibella sits next to her and lets Phoebe sit up and clutch her arm, resting her head on Sibella's shoulder.

  


"I've had an excellent night," she says, lips brushing against her skin, her neck. "How about you, dear?"

  


This is the part that thrills Sibella, and also terrifies her. Phoebe and her have been seeing so much of each other and every moment taps into the deepest layer of Sibella's emotions. It would be draining if it wasn't exhilarating. Flirty and teasing she might be, but that is public Sibella and that one seems to poof away whenever she finds herself alone with Phoebe. Here in this room, she becomes a mess that she's not proud of, but sometimes it seems to her that Phoebe likes private Sibella even more. She nods, turning to look at Phoebe.

  


"Me too," she whispers, because it would seem blasphemy to rupture the atmosphere of the room.

  


In her stumble to the bed, Phoebe has forgotten to turn on the light and there is only the moon shining down on her face through the narrow window. She looks so very pretty, her dark hair glinting silver, her eyes bright with that gentle playfulness of hers. They pierce through Sibella like she doesn't even notice how vain she is, how self-centered, how needlessly cruel sometimes. She sees a better Sibella than the one who is really sitting here by her side. All that affection is as much as Sibella wants, but overwhelming nonetheless, and she gulps thickly.

  


"Oh, I know!" Phoebe whispers excitedly all of a sudden and jumps to her feet to rummage through her drawers. "There it is!"

  


"What is that?" Sibella frowns.

  


Phoebe shushes her, sitting back right next to her − closer than before, it seems to Sibella.

  


"A stethoscope," she replies as if that was any sort of explanation. "Don't move."

  


Carefully, Phoebe unwraps the stethoscope from itself and hands Sibella the earpieces, who dubiously puts them on, not sure where in heaven Phoebe might be going with this display. But then, Phoebe unbuttons her jacket and slides the flat metal disk down her shirt and Sibella's ears are suddenly flooded with a loud thump.

  


"I can feel my heart beat faster when I think about you," she says. "Can you hear it?"

  


Of course she can, though over the hard beat of her own heart, it's near impossible to sort which is which. Sibella bites her lip for fear of her reaction. Phoebe scoots closer, her hand on her thigh, and the two beats get all that much louder.

  


"And when I touch you…" Phoebe says. "Then it's out of control."

  


Even if Phoebe is the one putting her own heart on display, Sibella feels so exposed, like the raw reality of their feelings is impossible to ignore, unbearable at her ears.

  


"And when you… kiss me?"

  


Phoebe bites her lip, her thumb rubbing circles on Sibella's thigh. Slowly, and her heartbeat accelerating with every inch closer, she leans towards Sibella. It feels like time itself is stopping for them when their lips brush and there is nothing but their kiss and their hearts and this place. It's not their first kiss, god bless, but not nearly many enough for Sibella to have become used to it. Fireworks are booming at her ears and in her chest.

  


"Did you hear it?" Phoebe asks softly as they separate, her hand grabbing Sibella's, entwining their fingers.

  


"I'm not sure," Sibella says, squeezing Phoebe's hand. "I suppose we'll just have to try again…"

  


"Oh, you!" Phoebe grins, shaking her heart.

  


They know each other's heartbeat perfectly inside out by the time the night is done.

 


	2. Phoebella: I thought ignoring the way I feel would make me fall out of love

 

 

Sibella sighs.

  


"I couldn't say this was what I envisioned when I received your invite for an afternoon tea at Highhurst."

  


Phoebe giggles, the most delicate sound ever to bless Sibella's ears. She pulls her closer and the novelty of their skin against each other's makes Sibella shiver. So much beyond what her mind had ever come up with.

  


"I hope not a disappointment, my darling," Phoebe replies and the purr of her voice plunges Sibella into such serenity she could fall asleep, if it weren't for how much she wants to hear every word the countess has to say. "I can send for some tea, if you…"

  


Sibella squeezes her hand to silence her and Phoebe hums in understanding.

  


"Oh, never, I… You bring me more joy than you know."

  


"If only it was as much as you give me," Phoebe replies and the way she holds Sibella so very close… She never thought it would be allowed.

  


The countess's affections should not have taken Sibella by surprise, not really. She had been quite aware of her own heart for longer than she cared to admit, maybe since the first smile thrown her way that dreadful day at Highhurst. But then, she'd thought the flutterings of a foolish crush would wash away if she did not care to encourage them. She'd told herself that forcing dear Phoebe into sharing her beloved husband was enough stain on her soul. Asking Monty to share his wife with her, and a _woman_ at that, no matter how much she enjoyed Phoebe's smiles, was much too grievous even for her.

  


"Had you… had you foreseen this?" Sibella dares to ask, her face hidden in the curve of Phoebe's naked breasts.

  


Phoebe's chest heaves in a breathless snort.

  


"Had I thought to seduce my husband's own mistress?" She ponders. "No, I think not. You were simply too irresistible, my dear."

  


Sibella cannot help the smile, of course, much less when Phoebe leans to kiss her hair and stays there, breathing her in. They are so very peaceful here, more than Sibella ever thought they deserved.

  


"But was it on your mind?" She insists. "Had you thought about…"

  


"About this?" Phoebe asks, squeezing her side, pulling her close. Her leg is sliding between Sibella's, but rather a memory of the afternoon than a promise of more. There'll be times other days, Sibella tells herself, satiated for the present. "Of course I had thought about it. Hadn't you?"

  


"I…" Sibella starts but the words get stuck in her throat. "Is it really that easy for you? How could you bear the anguish?"

  


"What ever do you mean?"

  


"Can you… Oh, it's absurd, you'll think me a fool."

  


Phoebe pulls on Sibella's chin gently, soft like a dove, but maybe it is that tenderness that makes Sibella look up to Phoebe's clear blue eyes.

  


"Tell me, love."

  


"Well, I…" She sighs. "I thought ignoring the way I feel would make me fall out of love. With you."

  


Phoebe blinks and Sibella thinks she almost sees tears pearling in those pretty eyes. Quick, before she can scold herself for it, she kisses Phoebe's cheek, brushes her thumb under her eyes.

  


"It didn't work."

  


"I'm glad," Phoebe replies, her voice choked up and Sibella wants to never cause her pain again. "I am so very glad it didn't work."

  


"I could never stop," Sibella promises. "Not now that we… Well, that we…"

  


"That we found each other," Phoebe finishes for her.

  


Sibella nods.

  


"I'm so happy to hear that," Phoebe says. "I have no intention of letting go of you, my darling."

  


"And I, you," Sibella replies. "We have got each other for good, I fear."

 


	3. Monty/Sibella: I never loved them. I love you.

"My sincerest condolences, Mrs Holland."

Monty presses a tender kiss on the back of her hand, brief enough that the guests should not find it suspicious, appropriate enough that it would be perceived as a gesture of support for a grieving wife mourning the early death of her husband. No matter their closeness, it is just that after all, of course, for Sibella finds herself weirdly enough mourning Lionel more than she ever imagined she would. Further down the line of mourners, the Countess is presenting her sorrowful condolences to Lionel's parents and siblings. Of course, Phoebe had a few comforting words for Sibella as well but in this event, it is Monty she has been craving.

"Thank you, Lord Navarro, I… I am grateful for your presence."

How she longs to hold his hands or hug his body tight and bury her face in his neck. In all events of her life, Monty was always her rock, so, so much more than Lionel, her stone statue of a husband. And yet…

She does mourn him. Not as much as a loving spouse ought to, probably, but there is something of a sadness in that withered cold heart of hers. She'll miss having someone at home, the company even if it was never dear to her. He might have been stupid but he was there, and that's more than she can say for many a friends. She'll miss the comfort − she hardly knows how she is to go on without Lionel's business. So many details will need to be taken care of and Sibella is tired in advance. Of course, it doesn't help that his family keeps eying her like she's responsible for every little nosebleed their dear Lionel ever had.

The ceremony is a very tiring affair as well. When comes her time to say a few words on the so-called great man Lionel Holland was, she waves the opportunity away, hiding her dry eyes behind a handkerchief. And how did Lionel's family all have a word to say after all, each of them a prepared speech? She certainly had not foreseen the motorcar accident and her mind goes blank as to what she ought to be saying, to be feeling. Lionel was always close to his family and she supposes they have plenty of good memories to pick from to commemorate him, but she can't say that the same is true for her and she keeps her silence.

"My thanks," she tells every guest on their way out, pulling a polite and courteous face she's so practiced over the years, and if they see through it, they say nothing of it.

It is an empty house without Lionel, a house she's not yet used to and might never become used to. The plan was to live a long and comfortable life with a rich and handsome husband. Sibella thought she had pull it all off, the luxury of this house, and her heart taken care of with her frequent visits at Highhurst, but then…

The doorbell interrupts the train of self-pity. She almost thinks she must have misheard, since a few seconds pass and no one is introduced into her parlor, but then she remembers that she sent away all the servants tonight. There's a rap at the door that she recognizes from a thousand years ago when Monty used to sneak into her room through the window to cover her in kisses. She pulls herself to her feet. For him, she must.

"Sibella…"

He's brought her flowers, some forget-me-nots, the loveliest bunch for such a grave occasion. They stare at each other, unblinking, before Sibella dives straight into his arms, pressing her face into his chest.

"Oh, Monty!"

Gently, he pets her hair, wraps an arm around her waist and she feels so fragile, like she could break if it weren't for his support.

"It is a short ride from Highhurst," he tells her. "And I thought you might want a friend. May I come in?"

In a few years of secret trysts, never has she let him visit the Holland household for fear that Lionel had some servants paid off to spy on her. There's no servants now, but then, no Lionel either.

"I don't have any tea," she sighs. "If you want some scotch, there's some in… in the office…"

She's fretting, she knows, and Monty grabs her shaking hands to still them, pulling them to his chest. If she pays close attention, she thinks she can feel the pulse of his heartbeat under her fingers.

"My darling," he says softly. "Are you quite alright?"

"Oh, you know how it is…" she says, disentangling herself from the embrace. She gestures for him to sit and unbidden, thinks of Countess Navarro, the lovely smiles of her. "Though perhaps you don't."

He nods, his gaze full of kindness. She makes to sit on the couch but he stops her, holding her back by the hand. _It's not like Lionel will come back from the dead to catch me_.

"Oh, Monty," she whimpers as she sits on his lap, arms around his neck. "I know I'm ridiculous, mourning a husband I didn't even… But his family, you know how they always thought I was…"

"They still love you," he says, kissing her cheeks, her temple. "They must. I'm sure Lionel being gone won't change anything of that."

"Oh, what do you know?" She sighs. "I never loved them. I love you."

The words leave her lips before she can justify them to herself, but they have always been true and she says nothing to contradict them. Monty says nothing, but she feels his arms tighten around her.

"It was much easier to hate him when he was still alive."

Monty nods and Sibella nestles into him. She feels stupid for being sensitive about this, of almost grieving a husband she was unfaithful to and never truly loved. It's nothing, probably, just the time to readjust herself to a new situation, but she still feels it's unfair that she should have to, when she was just starting to gain some control over her new situation.

"Come live with us," Monty says.

Sibella lifts her head from his chest.

"Huh?"

He holds her chin, looking into her eyes. She's always loved his eyes, how blue they look, like a clear summer day's sky. She gulps.

"Come live with us at Highhurst," he repeats. "Phoebe would love you around, and I… I can barely live without you as is."

At another time, she might have found a witty remark, a teasing reply, but her mind has been numb the past few days and she can only nod.

"I'll think about it."

Though she already knows the answer she will give him.


	4. Monty/Sibella I love you's

Sibella has grown knowing that Monty loves her, and every time he says it matters just as much as the one before it.

Monty is six and tells her that he loves her. Wee little children as they are, they’re always found together. Monty’s favorite game is to pretend they’re getting married. Sibella loves putting on her Sunday best without her mum knowing and Monty has always the wordiest vows for her, swearing forever to honor and cherish her. He tells her he loves her and Sibella tells him that little boys know nothing of love or marriage, but that he is allowed to kiss her cheek if he dares. Monty always dares.

Monty is thirteen and tells her that he loves her. At some point along the way, there has started to be a hint of truth behind childish promises and kisses have started to land on her lips often as not, a secret between them. When Monty starts getting taller than her and she starts wearing corsets, suddenly Sibella knows that one day she’ll actually get married, and that it won’t be to Monty. She takes the kisses and the I love you’s all the same.

Monty is seventeen and tells her that he loves her. When Sibella begins to catch the eye of all the boys around, and the men, it is Monty alone who can taste her virtue away. Behind her parents’ back, she opens her door to him, and her legs, and he loves her every time she’s left at home. He is her solace, those pretty moments he lies there holding her close and she thinks she should be very sorry when she’ll have to get married to another.

Monty is twenty-three and he tells her that he loves her. He has become all the more amorous since Sibella started seeing a lot of Lionel Holland. Surprises and presents, and endless affection, even with so much work and so little time to themselves. He is ever so kind, ever so cautious, ever so tender. She sees him the night before she knows Lionel is to propose and in the pit of the night, he kisses her hair and tells her he loves her more than he’s ever loved anyone, more than his heart can take. Sibella feigns to be asleep.

Monty is twenty-five and he tells her that he loves her in a damp dark corridor in the guts of Highhurst, and Sibella regrets not ever telling him sooner how much she loves him as well.


	5. Monty/Sibella That doesn't mean you're off the hook for not giving me chocolates

First, the chair. It’s been their companion of pleasure a thousand times before, as many times as Monty has slipped to his knees to lift up the skirts of Mrs Lionel Holland to dote on what Mr Holland has been so cruelly neglecting − at her wish.

Then, the table. Large and bulky and expensive and unused with all the extra hours Monty has been pulling at the firm, but if he has to put it to use, then making love to Sibella might just be the most natural way to do it, or to do anything at all.

They don’t even make it to the bedroom next. What would they all say if they could see how beautiful she is when her body wraps itself around his, the pretty little moans he gets out of her, that he is sure no one else in the world is privy to? She makes him stronger in more ways than she knows, and certainly enough to support her against the lovely tapestries in the halls of his new home fit for an heir.

The bed is next, finally. It’s Monty’s favorite place, call him old fashioned. There’s something about Sibella’s soft and pliable body between his linens, her smile under him, the cascade of her golden waves on the pillow. She grips onto him like she’s afraid he’ll leave her here hot and bothered, leaves scratches on his back so he knows he belongs to her − he’s always known that. He could spend hours with her on these days Mr Holland is out of town, and he does.

“I believe that was five,” he says when Sibella rewards him with her indecent, lovely, perfect, perfectly loud moan one last time. “So this means I'm…”

“It was seven,” she cuts him, maneuvering his body as she pleases so he wraps his arms around her so very tight. “Twice in the parlor, and another against the dresser as well. Really, Monty…”

He chuckles, pulling her flush against him, butterfly kisses against the crook of her neck.

“Well, then this means I have done so much more than enough to be forgiven for…”

“That  _doesn’t_  mean you’re off the hook for not giving me chocolates.”

Monty groans into the pillow.


	6. Monty/Sibella: I'm cold, come closer.

Sibella has been ignoring the bright red figures of Monty's cheap clock, for she would feel ashamed to be up this late at night if she allowed herself to register exactly how late they have been up. It's long past her bedtime, even past midnight, and only now have Monty and her stopped their relentless whispers and giggles and stories and settled to sleep. He sleeps on the floor, always, the inflatable mattress never far for all the impromptu sleepovers that seem to occur whenever he invites her home, always hidden away at arm's reach under his bed.

Back when they were little kids, they'd sleep in the same bed and fall asleep pretending to read from the same book, but it's been deemed improper since and Sibella fears that she soon won't be allowed to sleep over at Ursula Grove at all anymore, not now that she's thirteen and a good deal prettier than all the other girls. Monty will be fifteen soon and Sibella thinks she saw a hint of stubble above his lip when he helped her to her coat earlier today. She hasn't dared to get too near to him to check for sure, not with his mum in the room.

"Are you sleeping yet?" Monty whispers.

Isobel is asleep right across the hall in her small room. Sibella doesn't know why Monty is being so quiet − it's not like she has ever come out to scold them, sweet as she is − but she answers in kind.

"I can't. I'm cold."

He startles up, making to scramble to his feet.

"I'll put on some heating," he cries out, forgetting all about his hushing. "It's just that Mum prefers to…"

"No no no," she stops him, reaching out to still his shoulder. "No need to bother. I'll just…"

She pauses. Monty is staring up at her, a shine of moonlight falling across his face, his bright eyes… Under her fingers, his shoulder is warm even in the chill of his room. She pulls on his arm.

"Come here."

She sees his eyes widen, how the silver light makes them look paler than their deep blue.

"Sibella, I…"

"Monty, I'm _cold_."

He hesitates for a few much too long seconds before jumping to his feet and joining her under the covers of his own bed, enclosing the both of them underneath. She can't see his face in the dark, not really, but he grabs her hands and pulls them to his chest and even through his tank top she feels the heat of his skin. It's almost as soothing as the fast drum of his heartbeat.

"Is this better?"

 _Almost_ , she thinks, sticking her frozen feet against Monty's calves to sap the warmth of him. What she'd do without him… 

"I'm cold, come closer."

There's shuffling and Monty wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her close to him. Her head against his shoulder, it's almost perfect. His grasp, tense at first, soon relaxes and his fingers begin to rub absentminded circles against her back.

"That feels nice," she whispers and tells herself she has never felt more relaxed before. If only every night could be a sleepover at Monty's, then life would be a little bit closer to perfect.

She couldn't say who kisses the other first. They almost miss each other in the dark and there is a lot more teeth than Sibella would have believed, but then, it's not like she's ever kissed anyone before to compare and she is almost sure Monty hasn't either. She'd know if he had. No matter who initiated, and she tells herself that in her recollections, she'll believe it was her, the kiss fills her with joy and peace and excitement and she wraps her arms around Monty's shoulders and pulls him even closer. His leg slides between hers, his arm tightening around her waist, and the cold is only a vague memory.

"We should get to sleep," he mutters between kisses.

"Yes," she replies, her mouth on his, fingers playing with the curls at the back of his neck. "Yes, we should."

Neither of them can hide their yawns the next morning after a night of not sleeping, but then, neither can they hide their smiles.


	7. Monty/Sibella: the morning after

A trickle of kisses down her neck is her alarm clock. Sibella stirs to awareness, not daring to open her eyes, for who knows if her beautiful dream will gone when the sun hits her face? She basks in its warmth, but there is nothing intangible about the arm around her waist, the bare skin against hers. The dream was real. She smiles into her pillow, pulling his arm closer to tighten the embrace.

"Sleep well?" Monty's morning-slurred voice asks.

Slowly, Sibella turns around in his arms and finds herself drowning in Monty's ocean blue eyes. Now, _there_ 's a depth she'd like to be lost in. She bites her lip.

"That's not a good enough question," she answers. "You should be swearing eternal love first thing in the morning."

He smirks, bringing her hand to his lips and pressing a dozen kisses onto it before replying.

"You didn't tell me you had such stark rules for the lovers you take to bed," he says. "I'd have taken notes."

They smile at each other and Sibella's traitor heart starts thumping with no input on her part. Their lips meet and she should hate to be seen like this, with no make-up, her hair a mess, before she's had a bath or just brushed her teeth, but then Monty groans into the kiss and cups her face so close to his and it matters so little anymore.

"Well?" She asks when they break the kiss, Monty's forehead against hers and his mouth so very close.

"You know I'll always love you," he whispers, a mere evidence. His hands slide down to rub up and down her arms and she feels so very warm and loved and cherished. "For ever and ever…"

He pushes her down into her pillow, his body the perfect weight above her, a leg sliding between hers and she moans at his insistent kisses, wraps her arms around his neck. Forever and ever sounds almost enough.

"How long till your parents come home?" Monty says into her ear, his breath warm and hot against her skin.

"Not before this afternoon," she replies, stealing another kiss, her leg hooking up around his hip. "I'll have to entertain you until then, I suppose."

"I'm sure we will find a way to keep busy," Monty murmurs and kisses her once more − and again and again.


	8. Phoebella: Red dress

"I'm not sure red is my color…" Phoebe groans.

  


It comes all muffled through the door of the changing booth but even so, Sibella would be deaf to miss the frustration on her tone.

  


"Well, not everyone is able to pull off a…" She stops herself to reconsider her words. Phoebe is not darling Monty and the familiarity she has with the one, teasing and toying and playfully showing her claws, does not always transfer to the other, married and one flesh as these two are. "Oh, I'm sure it can't be as bad as you make it sound," she tells Phoebe, her voice as honeyed as she can make it.

  


"No, really," Phoebe replies, a whimper hidden behind the words. "You'll laugh at me."

  


Sibella bites her lip.

  


"Show me, then."

  


There's a pause and then Phoebe opens a narrow sliver of the door. Sibella takes the invite and steps inside the booth, but almost loses her footing at the sight. In front of the mirror, Phoebe is shuffling into place, looking at herself from many angles, turning this way and that and not knowing that she is the most beautiful sight Sibella has ever beheld. She swallows thickly. That dress, some thin silky thing, the red fabric looking as soft as water, falling on her body like it was made to hug it, snug in all the right places.

  


"I… I think…"

  


Phoebe turns back around and instantly, her nervous little face turns to a teasing smile.

  


"Oh, it can't be _that_ bad."

  


She swirls around again, showing off the way the dress flows in the air, and Sibella's eyes fall where they shouldn't… _Where they should_ , she thinks, because such a body was made to be seen and loved and admired, and because she _can_ look at Phoebe, at her lover and friend and confident. Judging by the smirk at her lips, Sibella is certain that Phoebe does not mind.

  


"I suppose I have to buy it now."

  


The ride home is impossibly long. Sibella drives, for once, and tries to avoid Phoebe's teasing remarks, focusing her mind and gaze solely on the road. It's hard to not think about that red dress, to think of Phoebe's curves as they were hugged by it. She shakes her head and replies politely to whatever Phoebe is saying and drives on.

  


" _Your_ wife," Sibella points an accusatory finger at Monty as they walk into the living room where he sits reading the news, his entire face beaming at their entrance, "is insufferable. And a goddamn tease, and I want nothing to do with her."

  


Monty quirks a quizzical eyebrow.

  


"Did something hap…"

  


Phoebe giggles and grabs Sibella's arm from behind, pressing a kiss on her shoulder.

  


"Nothing at all, darling," she purrs. "Do you think you can cook dinner? We have to put away what we bought."

  


"Just how much could you possibly have bought?" He asks dubiously. "We have hours until dinner."

  


"Just the one dress," Phoebe says, "but it needs to be put away _thoroughly_."

  


Monty's mouth gapes open but no word comes out. Sibella feels her cheeks get very warm but she'll be damned if she doesn't let Phoebe pull her hand to the bedroom and slam the door behind them. She is by now quite sure of the effect Phoebe has on her with that dress on. Better make sure of the effect she has without it.

 


	9. Monty/Sibella: What do you want me to do?

Monty drops to his knees in front of her as soon as he's told her the news, pressing a dozen apologetic kisses onto Sibella's hand.

  


"I want you to be happy with this," he says, leaving her hand to nuzzle against her lap. "I really want that."

  


She's always so liked when he did this, sitting at her feet, her on her designated armchair at Highhurst, the most comfortable one in their private parlor. Smiling at him, she combs her fingers through his thick black curls, stopping to cup his cheek.

  


"Do you?"

  


"Yes!" He cries out, as animated in his gestures as in his frantic speech. He could never quite stay put. "I'll do anything to make you content, whatever you desire…"

  


She should tell him now that things are in fact quite alright, but the mere mention of possible compensations for this perceived slight on her (an insult entirely in his own mind, and his only) gets her to think twice.

  


"Did you say anything?"

  


"Of course!" Monty kisses her hand and the thigh underneath. "What do you want me to do? Kiss you in the rain? Buy you a dozen roses? As long as you're happy, I'll do anything."

  


She taps her chin thoughtfully and wonders what she could have him indulge her with, but taking a second glance, she sees his distress is genuine. She giggles.

  


"Don't be dim," she says, interlacing their fingers. "I don't care if your wife is pregnant. As long as I'm not its assigned nanny when it's born… No, I don't think I need to be made up with, I _am_ happy about this."

  


The sag of relief in his shoulders warms her heart as much as the kiss at her knuckles.

  


"Are you sure?"

  


She rolls her eyes.

  


"Yes, quite."

  


"I promise this changes nothing!" She quirks an eyebrow and he reconsiders, specifies, "Of our feelings for you. And just because we'll be a family doesn't mean you should not be a part of it, and…"

  


"Monty, you're fretting."

  


He recoils and, nodding seriously, stands up, taking her hand to take her out the parlor to the garden arm in arm.

  


"Phoebe will be so relieved," he admits, a whisper as they near Phoebe's swing where the poor countess is pretending to read. "She thought we'd have to buy off a whole chocolate factory to get your approval."

  


Sibella pauses for a second.

  


"Now, did you say chocolate?"

 


	10. OT3 on vacation

"You look as relaxed as I have ever seen you," Phoebe comments and Sibella opens her eyes for the first time in what feels like an endless bliss.

  


She couldn't have designed a better day if she'd tried. Clinging to her body like a lick of flames, the sun is hot and bright and she has been basking in it, every last muscle of her body loosening to the quiet of this forgotten beach only Monty could know about. Phoebe… not so much. In general and even more in her state, the sun has disagreed with her mood and her complexion and she has planted her parasol as close to Sibella as she could without drowning her in shadows as well. Sibella turns to her, taking off her sunglasses, smiling. In her stretched bathing suit, she looks positively adorable, even with the frown on her face.

  


"And _you_ ," she says, "look way too worried for your own good. Monty is with them, whatever could happen?"

  


Even from the distance, they can hear the happy cheers of the children playing some game in the water that doesn't seem to have any rule except to splash as many of their siblings as they can, with Monty as their ever enthusiastic referee.

  


"I suppose," Phoebe says. She sighs and lies back onto her towel, and Sibella scoots towards her a little bit to hold her hand, even if it sacrifices a little bit of sunlight on her skin. _The things I do for love._ "I'm sure it's the hormones again, you know how…"

  


Sibella shakes her head, tssks.

  


"No pregnancy talk," she insists. "You keep that with Monty alone. I've had my share of it with… Well, speaking of the angel."

  


She sits up to hold up her arms for her little Grahame running full speed towards her. He crashes into her embrace with a loud sigh of relief. He's still at that age when Mummy's cuddles fix everything, thank God. Sibella has seen how Phoebe's oldest has grown out of that phase and is not quite eager for her boy to walk into his sister's steps. She takes every hug she can.

  


"What's it this time?" She asks. "Did Henrietta put sand in your hair again? I swear she's as naughty as her father was."

  


He says nothing, but shakes his head into her chest and she pets his hair patiently.

  


"I didn't want to play anymore."

  


It never ceases to amaze Sibella how very like Monty the boy can be in some aspects. Naughty he may have been, but she remembers how timid and sometimes a bit cowardly Monty could be when they were little. Grahame has taken that and upped it a few notches. Even simple things such as being out and about with the family can tire him and he craves the comfort of her quiet presence. She can't say she minds that.

  


"Well, you're just on time," she says. "Go ahead and help Mummy with her suncream, will you? Phoebe is entirely uncooperative."

  


"I'm _pregnant_ ," Phoebe retorts and tries to look grumpy, but both of them know she's not doing a very good job at hiding her smile.

  


Grahame helps her with the suncream before finding refuge under the parasol in Phoebe's embrace, and it's at least another hour before the others decide that they've had enough of the ocean for a while.

  


"How are the two most beautiful women in the world?" Monty grins.

  


His hair is crusty with sand and salt and his nose and arms are very pink, Sibella notices, but she likes the look of him all the same.

  


"We've had a wonderful day, darling," Phoebe replies, patting the sand next to her for him to join her − the little space that's left with the pile of children around her. "Thank you so much for keeping an eye on them."

  


"If it could buy you some quiet time," he says, "I'm very glad. We should come again."

  


"Yes," Sibella says, joining them under the parasol. "We should."

 


	11. Phoebella: I think I'm in love with you and that terrifies me

The first time Phoebe let Sibella inside her room, Sibella thought she had landed in a fairy land. Such a small space and yet filled with so many trinkets would be quite expected in a treasure cave rather than a dorm room. Potted plants on every surface, and interesting rocks, little bits of sparkly stuff (is Phoebe a magpie or an art student?), the desk covered with works in progress, and just next to it the pile of everything Phoebe's hands are capable of producing. Paintings and garments and she somehow seems to have been through a pottery phase at some point, the vases in the room a bit too uneven and unpolished (authentic, Sibella thinks) to be store bought. It's a beautiful place and every time Sibella steps inside, she finds new things to love and notice.

  


Not unlike the girl to whom the room belongs. Sibella shouldn't let herself be so keen on her and yet like some sort of nymph or fae, Phoebe has magic spelled her way into Sibella's good books and it would be a blatant lie to deny she is very much attached to her study partner. There is always more to find out about her, all layers of good spirit and kindness Sibella keeps unearthing. What started off awkwardly with Phoebe kissing Sibella on the lips half a dozen times before Sibella realized was, in fact, not accidental has turned into a beautiful mess of interlaced limbs and breathless kisses and caresses and Sibella is in awe and confusion at all of it.

  


"You're so tense," Phoebe whispers against her bare shoulder, pressing a kiss onto it.

  


She sits right back up on Sibella's thighs as she lays there half naked on the bed. Phoebe has taken to learning how to give massages recently and has onesidedly decided that Sibella should be her test subject. There would be little cause to complain if it weren't that laying there under her enthusiastic ministrations gives Sibella so much more time to think than their usual trysts, and thinking about Phoebe is a great deal harder to handle than kissing her. Thank the Lord for small mercies, at least she doesn't have to _see_ her when Phoebe wants to rub her back because the sight of a mostly naked Phoebe excitedly rubbing her hands all over her would be harder to handle still.

  


"Is something bothering you?" Phoebe asks in her lovely little voice that turns Sibella into a mess of hormones she thought she had left behind when she left her teenage years.

  


When she's lost in the heat of the moment, of course, Sibella can cope with exactly how much she longs for Phoebe. She can tell herself that a friend is helping her scratch an itch, that there's nothing to this but the raw physical need for each other, that there is nothing more to this, but when left to her thoughts… The thoughts are already hard enough in the emptiness of Sibella's own pink room at night, but pushing them down when Phoebe is doting on her is impossible. Sibella blinks and tries to sound calm and composed, to hide the turmoil inside her.

  


On the shelf on the other side of the room, all she can see from this position, she notices that Phoebe has put up a picture of the last time they went to eat ice cream, just the two of them. It is clearly printed from the library's computer but Phoebe made a lovely frame for it, hearts and flowers and a whole lot of pink, and it looks pretty. They look beyond happy on the picture. Phoebe had picked the flavor for her − raspberry, of course − and had taken the picture just before Sibella noticed she had some on her cheek. How careless Phoebe makes her feel, how simple life can be around her… She closes her eyes.

  


"I…" Sibella tries to say but it's just too damn _hard_. She sighs. "It's nothing."

  


Behind her back, Phoebe stops whatever heavenly thing her hands were doing (she's not _that_ good at massages, not yet, but sometimes Sibella believes that there is nothing Phoebe could do that she wouldn't find less than perfect). She scrambles off Sibella's thighs, kneeling at her side.

  


"This sounds like a sitting-next-to-each-other kind of conversation."

  


Reluctantly, though Phoebe is not wrong, Sibella sits up, pulling the pillow in front of her to give herself an excuse to hug something, hold onto a small piece of safety. Phoebe puts her hand, her lovely little talented hand on her thigh and traces soothing circles and Sibella breathes in sharply.

  


"I think I'm in love with you," she says, not daring to look up at whatever she might find in Phoebe's beautiful eyes. "And that terrifies me."

  


There's a few seconds of silence that only deepen the pit in her stomach before she finds the courage to look at Phoebe. She's smiling and Sibella feels the tenderness radiating from her, the compassion, and feels very foolish all of a sudden. Phoebe leans into her slowly, as if she was afraid Sibella would run away like a startled kitten, and kisses her lips softly, gently.

  


"I'm in love with you too," she replies, her hand playing with Sibella's hair, the smile on her face insufferable and gorgeous. "Isn't this what we've been doing this whole time?"

  


The weight in Sibella's chest seems to have disappeared. What seemed hard and impossible to pierce through just seconds ago is now clear as day and she can only shrug, letting go of the pillow, sitting prettily.

  


"I suppose it is."

  


Phoebe smiles, lets out a breathless snort before kissing her again, and again and again.


	12. Monty/Sibella: I can't keep being your dirty little secret

Sibella dresses like a performance, like a work of art. It's not the jewelry, the perfume, the makeup, the fancy hairdo, although that is all part of it. There's a piece of Sibella that is silenced when she's dolled herself up, or so it feels to Monty. He loves her either way, but the Sibella he's so utterly, completely in love with is the one between his sheets that has nothing to hide. The Sibella the world knows, Monty can't help but pierce through and hope to one day understand her mysteries.

  


"Why do you always stare at me so?" She asks and Monty had thought he'd be able to sneak a peek without her noticing, her back to him, but then Sibella has a bit of magic to her, he's sure.

  


He gets out of bed (just a mattress on the floor, one of the few things he could salvage of his mother's home before the eviction), grabbing his briefs from where she tore them from him and threw them on the floor, and pulls them on. In the dimly lit bathroom of his studio under the roofs (he really ought to change that lightbulb soon before he has to shower in complete darkness), Sibella is putting on the show that is Sibella, even with just the small make up pouch she keeps in her purse. She never leaves anything at his place, no trace of her presence beyond the rush in Monty's heartbeat at the memories.

  


"And who are _you_ dressing up for so pretty?" He asks, wrapping a jealous arm around her waist, kisses at her shoulder from behind. "Maybe I'd like you to stay here with me in this bed…"

  


She snorts, though she takes the embrace and the kiss with delight. A dash of perfume that makes him cough and it turns into a giggle.

  


"Don't be stupid," she says, fixing her already perfect hair, the hair Monty works so hard at making so messy, as sloppy as the lies they're hiding from her fiancé. "You know _Lionel_ expects me to…"

  


"To be his future trophy wife he can parade around fancy dinners and galas?"

  


She shakes her head, pursing her lips to apply the most seductive shade of red − Monty wants to kiss it away till the only pink at her lip is from the flush of arousal.

  


"We're not having that conversation again, Monty."

  


She says that like it's a discussion they've ever had. Monty should have known better, of course, than to fall in love with the upper crust. One way or another, he has ingratiated himself with Sibella Hallward, soon to be Holland, and it has been heaven and hell every day.

  


"When are we supposed to have it?" He snaps and immediately regrets his harsh tone. "Sibella, I'm… I'm tired of this. Just how many times are you going to come here and… you know…" She hides the hint of a smirk behind a pretty smile, brushing some blush across her cheeks. "Before you break up with him."

  


That, of all things, gets her to turn around, leaning against his sink to have a good look at him.

  


"Break up? With Lionel?"

  


Monty feels his cheeks burning up. _Stupid_ , he thinks, _you thought that was even an option?_ She'll never leave Lionel, not for him, not for this hobbit hole of an apartment with barely enough room for himself, much less for Sibella's incessant need of luxury.

  


" _Yes_ ," he replies, "I think that if you loved me, we'd…"

  


" _If_ I loved you?" She pinches the brink of her nose, shutting her eyes tight and the thought comes to mind that she might be ruining the eyeshadow she spent so much time arranging. "Don't do this to me right now, please, I'm… Now's not the time."

  


She gets back to her make-up, careful to hide her face or its reflexion to him and Monty gets flooded again with the knowledge that he's aiming for the stars and bound to crash back into his muddy reality soon enough.

  


"We could still have dates," he tries. "I know I can't take you to the opera but we could go to the park, to the cinema, I… I could cook for you, we could watch Netflix on the bed and cuddle on the couch and I'm sure we could be very happy."

  


She takes a long while before answering and he is quite certain that the effect to make him doubt himself and feel all too foolish is not accidental on her part. She flattens some wrinkles at her sleeves, throws one last glance at herself in the mirror before turning back at him as he leans sheepishly against the doorway. She takes the few steps between them and, a hand cupping his cheek, perfectly manicured fingers against his skin, gives him a brief kiss on the lips.

  


"Get yourself a cat, Monty, you'll be just as happy."

  


She makes to leave for her life of fancy and smart outings, a life where he doesn't belong, but on a whim, Monty rushes to stop her, barring her way to the door.

  


"Sibella, I can't do this anymore, I can't keep being your dirty little secret!"

  


She looks him up and down, lifts her eyes to the sky and thinks he can't see the sadness in them, and grabs her things by the entrance, all evidence of her ever being here.

  


"You should put some clothes on, Monty," she says. "It's getting chilly and you look rather silly there on your own."

  


The door closes softly behind her. Out of spite, Monty almost wants to run after her, to tell her she's more than welcome to never come back again, but he knows that she only has to send one innocuous snapchat (they've become quite adept at coding their meaning) for him to run at her heels and beg for forgiveness. He sighs, dropping onto his bed face first like a dead weight. It smells a little bit like her and a lot like two hours of sex before whatever soirée she's invited at tonight, like Monty is a snack at home before the party.

  


"Stupid," he groans into his pillow on which Sibella was resting her pretty princess head not too long ago. "Stupid, _stupid_."

  


She texts him the next day with the time of her next visit and Monty opens his door and his heart to her yet again.

 


End file.
